20Something Wolf Aftermath II
by hbrackett
Summary: Futurefic taking place ten years after Aftermath.  Reviews/suggestions always welcome!  They are like gasoline in the engine of my writing...
1. Chapter 1

A/N – Inspired by Spindiver's wonderful futurefic, I decided to do one of my own which will also be a sequel to "Aftermath". I was torn between calling it "Twenty-Something Wolf" or simply Season 10. Hope you enjoy.

Sheriff Stiles Stilinski ordered another beer, still unable to dull the pain after a whole year.

"You've had enough, Sheriff." Said the bartender politely.

"You want me to revoke your liquor license?" growled Stiles, a hint of red coming into his eyes.

Feeling the first surge of the change in almost 6 months, Stiles canceled the order and went back out to his police cruiser. The irony of it was, he simply could not get drunk. His body metabolized the alcohol too fast for him to get more than a mild buzz. Still, so as not to cause people to cast aspersions on his performance, he walked the three blocks from The Slaughtered Lamb bar to his single room apartment. Letting himself into its dusty silence, he threw himself into his easy chair and stared at the wall.

"Why? Oh God, why?" and gave himself over to grief. Lydia had vanished, for almost a year now. Jackson Whitmore had disappeared as well, leaving a similarly devastated Derek Hale. Initially suspecting foul play from the Argents, they discovered that Allison and Scott had made great headway within the family in promoting peaceful werewolf rights. None of the active members had any interest in hunting them, and there were no old grudges that could provide motive.

The two Alphas began the hunt in earnest, but the trail could not even be called cold since there wasn't one. They gave up after 6 months with literally not even a single lead to pursue, despite the procedural police missing person's efforts and the tracking skills of the two werewolves. It occurred to them that maybe they had run away together, rekindling a forgotten feeling they shared in high school…but neither really felt this was the case. The passion and desire they felt for their mates had not decreased in nine years since the day they became joined, and the feeling was mutual. Lydia had grown and mellowed over the years from a spoiled bossy teenager into a loving (and occasionally cat-mean) adult. Stiles was all she cared about, aside from her job as a fashion buyer for several obscenely wealthy celebrities.

As for Jackson (who had inherited his father's business and vast fortune), he had come home one day with a tattoo on his left arm showing two wolves under a full moon curled up together, and a caption reading "Derek & Jackson Forever", which he displayed proudly by wearing an endless succession of sleeveless shirts summer and winter. As soon as Derek saw it, he went out and got a matching one on his right arm. The tattoos had healed overnight, but refused to fade. Stiles consoled Derek one night when all the older man could do was sit on the steps of his house and cry floods of tears, constantly stroking the tattoo.

Around the time they had given up, both werewolves found out that the change no longer came at their call. Oh sure, if they put their minds to it they could shift, but it took fierce concentration to maintain the shape and they would revert to human almost instantly when they relaxed their will. It was almost as if the wolves inside them no longer wanted to come out, so grief stricken were they by the loss of the ones they loved.

Scott and Allison had remained together, living in the Argents home after the senior Argents retired and moved back to their ancestral home in France. Scott's mother had also married, and moved in with her new husband and his children in Seattle, Washington. He was a widower who had suffered a car accident and shamelessly flirted and hounded Melissa at the hospital until she agreed to a date. They were married within six months, and Melissa quit her job to be a full time housewife. They were extremely comfortable on his income, and he treated her like a queen. The kids adored her. Scott was a little distant at first, but when his new stepfather's children immediately took a fierce liking to their new brother, Scott gave in and accepted the change. He always wanted his mother to be happy, and he had to admit that she had made the right choice.

Allison had taken a position training Olympic candidates in gymnastics, while Scott became a Veterinarian, and also operated a canine obedience school, scoring a contract with the police department (thanks to Stiles) to train their police dogs. Of course, with a werewolf for a Sheriff, the dogs were seldom needed, so they were mostly used for show anyway.

Of the original Pack, with the exception of Danny (who remained in Beacon Hills with his werewolf partner Matthew) the rest had gone to college and pursued careers all over the country. They usually returned at least once a year, though with recent events, the current reunion had been postponed indefinitely. Danny worked in construction, while Matthew was a moderately successful artist, and the two were looking into adoption.

Derek had stayed with his teaching and coaching job, bringing Beacon Hills High to new heights in terms of academic and varsity success. He had taken a leave of absence to search for Jackson, and had yet to decide if he could handle returning to work. He certainly did not need the money; Jackson had given him power of attorney over all of his holdings, but it was something that he had truly enjoyed…until now. The spark inside him that led to his success was as dead as cold ash, and he would be no use in either capacity until it was reignited.

Over the past few weeks, Derek and Stiles had begun avoiding each other, unable to bear the mirror image of grief that they saw in each other's faces.

Tonight however, Stiles decided he couldn't stand to be alone anymore, and left his apartment running at superhuman speed through the woods to Derek's house.

Derek was outside on the steps again, staring up at the full moon. The pale orb had completely lost its power to stir the beast inside him, and he mourned the loss of his inner lifelong companion nearly as much as he mourned Jackson. Derek registered no surprise at Stiles' approach.

"Bad night?" Derek ventured.

"The worst. Felt a brief touch of the wolf in a bar tonight."

"You're one up on me."

Stiles sat next to him, and after s second, Derek put his arm around him.

"Where do you think they are, Derek? Where…the hell…are they?"

Derek shook his head.

"If I knew, I would be there this second. And I wouldn't want to be their jailor when I got there." He had pulled his arm back, and was stroking the tattoo again.

"Derek…there are a lot of things I don't know about being a werewolf even after all of this time. I still keep discovering new things. Is there anything in your…our, I don't know…lore that could help?"

Derek shook his head.

"Anything in the more supernatural realm that we could use? Crystal ball? Gypsy Fortune Teller?"

"I knew one once, but she died three years ago. Her daughter is not old enough to use her gift properly. Seers come into their powers at 13. The girl is 4."

Stiles pondered the impossibility of waiting nine more years for an answer.

"Shit. There has to be something, goddamnit!" Stiles got up and paced around the moonlit front yard.

"Could the Argents help us? They knew how to track us."

"Not better than we do."

"Damnit Derek! Don't just sit there! I feel like you're giving up!"

Derek was on his feet and over to Stiles in a second.

"Give up? GIVE UP? _I would kill a hundred people to have him back! I would DIE to have him back! Over and over and over again! A thousand times! Don't EVER say that to me again!"_

_"You think I feel any less for Lydia? I loved her since I met her when I was a freaking kid! TEN YEARS I loved her before we finally got together! And I didn't even get to have her that long!"_ Stiles sank to his knees, more hot tears tracking down his face.

"Derek, I can't live without her. Please…just kill me. It hurts too much."

Derek pulled him roughly to his feet.

"She is still out there somewhere. So is Jackson. I would be dead already if I felt otherwise. Neither of us are going to take the easy way out. Somehow, someday...we will find them."

Derek pulled the broken younger man into his house, and led him to the guest bedroom. Then he returned to his own room, undressed, and lay down on the hard wood floor at the foot of the massive bed he and Jackson had shared together. To be in the bed without him…he felt as if that would be the final acceptance on his part that Jackson was no longer alive. Sleep was a hesitant and flighty visitor to both men until the small hours of the night.

Together they had the same dream. Jackson and Lydia, huddled in some sort of cell, disheveled and half starved. They sat on opposite sides of the cell, staring at nothing, until they heard a door slam and footsteps echo down a hallway. Then they huddled together, Lydia crying and Jackson with his arm around her (the tattoo visible in perfect detail) trying to comfort her while shivering and crying himself.

The footsteps got closer and closer, and their terror grew and grew, palpable in the essence of the dream.

To each of the sleeping men, it appeared that their mates suddenly noticed the dreamers present and invisible in the room.

The prisoners opened their mouths and shouted : "HELP US! GET US OUT OF HERE! PLEEEAAASEEE! HURRY! HE'S COMING!"

And as one, both men awakened in a fury of transformation.

The two Alpha wolves burst from the house, racing through the forest. The dream had left them some kind of scent, some kind of compass that their waking minds lacked. They felt with every fiber that this was the direction their loved ones were in. The forest floor flew by under their paws, animals fleeing at the sound and smell of them, even the crickets became silent. The dream was vivid at first, and yet, as their fully awake minds lost the tenuous grasp on it, the Alpha wolves slowed to a stop.

They shifted back to normal and looked at each other, shivering a little in the unseasonably cold night air. Transforming had destroyed what little clothing they wore to bed, though both men were beyond modesty at this point in their lives.

They looked around, realizing that they were on the very edge of Hale property, close to a cliff that overlooked a huge lake. To go farther would have meant a descent and a very long swim.

"Dream?" asked Derek.

"Yeah. What's it mean?"

Derek shook his head. "I have never heard of that happening before. It was almost like we were connected…like we got through to them working together."

"You never heard of it because two Alphas are never in the same area. There we were, sleeping in the same house. With a single purpose."

Derek had to agree. It was the only explanation that made sense.

"What's across this lake?" pointed Stiles.

"Mountains, hills. Keep going and you get to the border with Washington."

"Do you think they are still around here?" Stiles looked around, as if expecting them to be hidden behind a tree.

"I believe they are closer than we think."

Together, the men walked the long distance back to the house.

Stiles began spending every night at Derek's, even sleeping in the same room with him to maximize their proximity to each other and hopefully have the dream again. It did not happen, although on occasion they shared more commonplace dreams. Derek suggested they give it some time, maybe the working together needed time to build up in force. Nothing changed after a week, and both men were frustrated. They began digging at each other, snarling at each other and almost came to blows on two occasions. Stiles finally returned to his apartment so that they could cool off.

One thing that the dream had accomplished was the reawakening of the wolves inside them. In fact, they found themselves on the jaws of a transformation at the slightest provocation.

Stiles had pulled over a speeder, who made the unwise decision of arguing the ticket. He flipped out his cell phone threatening to call his lawyer. Stiles suddenly stuck a furred and clawed hand into the window and crushed the cell to tiny bits.

Derek almost mauled a cashier at the supermarket when he was informed that the credit card reader was down. Both men took to staying away from situations that could set them off.

In frustration, the two went to see Scott and Allison (not that they expected help, but because they just needed someone to talk to). The happily married couple listened to the story in silence. Scott shrugged his shoulders, as if to say "I have no idea what to tell you." Allison was looking intently at the two of them, as if trying to find a clue in what they said.

The evening you had the dream…the two of you shared…some closeness?" she asked.

They both got revolted looks on their faces…then realized there was more than one meaning to the word 'closeness'.

"You mean when I put my arm around him? I guess that was…closeness."

"Have you two ever done anything like that before since Stiles became an Alpha?" asked Scott.

Both shook their heads no.

"Nothing else happened on any other night, and this was the only thing that was different. It must be you two…comforting each other that caused the connection."

Neither Stiles nor Derek looked pleased with this information.

"Think about it. Two Alphas, creatures meant by their very nature to avoid each other. Why? Is there some hidden power in being together, even greater than a bonded pack? C'mon, use Occam's Razor."

"I just shaved this morning." Said Stiles rubbing his cheek.

Derek rolled his eyes. "She means, use the simplest solution that fits all the facts. I should have thought of this. But what can we do?

"Isn't it obvious? The two of you need to spend the night together, in the same bed. In _very_ close proximity." Said Allison.

Scott snorted at the look on Stiles' face, but then covered himself quickly.

Derek just looked lost in thought, gazing at his tattoo.

"I know Stiles probably feels this even more than I do, but I can't…do anything with him. It would be a betrayal to Jackson."

Stiles nodded emphatically. "Lydia might get turned on, and then I'd have to do it at least once a week."

"I'm not asking you guys to screw, although it would probably work. Get over your Alpha tendencies and instincts, and comfort each other, hold each other. Think how much both of you want the same thing; to rescue the people you care about. You really do not have a choice."

The two returned to Derek's house. Looking at each other awkwardly, and wishing there were any other way to do what needed to be done, they went upstairs. Stiles headed towards the master bedroom, but Derek stopped him.

"No. Not there. That bed is for Jackson and me only. _I_ don't even sleep in it without him." Derek's face would brook no argument.

"Derek, the other beds in the house are all singles. We'll be right on top of each other…" He trailed off, realizing that was the whole point of the procedure.

They took the room that Stiles used last time (the bed was still unmade).

Stiles took out his thick set of flannel pajamas and put them on while Derek washed up for bed. When Derek came in, he was still in boxers. The tight toned body looked as if it hadn't aged a day in ten years. Maybe werewolves lived longer than people. Stiles brushed and washed, returning to note with alarm that the boxers were on the floor, and Derek was under the covers.

"Strip. Now. Closeness, Stiles. No sex. Just closeness." Derek stared at the ceiling while he said this. Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but Derek stopped him.

"_Don't _be the thing that stands in the way of me finding Jackson, Stiles."

After a long moment, Stiles obeyed and climbed over Derek to get the side next to the wall. He lay facing the wall, and only flinched slightly when Derek curled into him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Both men prayed for sleep to come quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek dreamed. In the blending of wakeful awareness and dream imagery that occurs when we float on the very borders of true sleep, his nearly closed eyes registered the fact that he was in bed, with his arms wrapped around his lover.

This thought brought with it terrific warmth, and a sense of peace and relaxation. He snuggled closer, and tightened his grip. Sleeps hold on him tightened harder than it had in many months.

"Love you, Jackson." He whispered aloud.

Unable to resist, he kissed the back of his mate's neck, and enjoying the salty/sweet taste of it, ran his tongue up the neck and around the side to behind the delicate ear. He was aware that he was becoming aroused, and he ground his body still more tightly against his partner, struggling to find that perfect puzzle piece fit. It occurred to him that the proportions were slightly unusual, but he merely made adjustments so as not to lose hold of the pleasant fantasy. His hand drifted up where it lay wrapped around the taut stomach, and brushed lightly against the firm chest. His fingers found their way to their usual favorite spot and squeezed lightly, enjoying the feeling of the flesh hardening between his fingers. A moan escaped Jackson then (why did his voice sound so different? Nevermind.).

Suddenly, the scene around them shifted. No longer was he lying in their enormous bed, now they were in the dank cell. It was dark. Not because the makeshift lights were off, but because the place had been abandoned, and a prisoner left to die. Jackson was no longer smoothly muscled, taut as a bedspring. Now his naked form was wasted, and bruises and cuts covered nearly every inch of his skin. He was shivering, and Derek noticed that it was freezing cold in the cell. Jackson was turning blue. He didn't have that much time left. Deprived of food, his body was unable to repair itself. His organs were failing, dehydration left it impossible for him to form a coherent thought. Derek called out to him, but his voice made no sound, as if he were a spectator here. Looking to the side, he saw Stiles standing with him, the two as bare as when they had retired to bed.

"Where's Lydia?" asked Stiles, becoming angry.

"Where are we?" returned Derek. He gestured at the prison cell door. They walked toward it, and through it as if it were a beaded curtain. Down a damp stone corridor, through a room that had served duty as a guard room, and then up a flight of stairs and through a metal grate. Outside, a rocky path led down to a lake on one side, and up toward a steep cliff on the other.

A shock of recognition hit Derek as he realized where they were. They were right on his property, not 300 feet from where he and Stiles had stood far above searching fruitlessly for their mates. This was yet another extension of the tunnel system that ran underneath the old Hale house. Derek had sealed the outer entrances with gates, and bricked up the internal entrances when the new house was built. He didn't think anyone else knew about them.

Stiles eyes began to glow red, the spirit of the Alpha within him arousing himself, though it had little ability to transform this dream self. Derek took his hand.

"Let's go back. Jackson may have answers for us."

Without knowing quite how they did it, they faded from that place (or the place faded away from them) and the two men found themselves entwined in a lover's embrace on the tiny bed.

Stiles screamed, and hurled Derek from him, holding himself, trying to erase the feeling that would haunt his memory forever. Derek was no less horrified, and sat on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Derek! What the hell! You said no sex!" screeched Stiles.

"And I meant it. I was half dreaming. I thought you were him."

"That's no excuse!"

"You didn't seem to mind the attention."

"I was dreaming you were Lydia!"

"If Lydia could do what I was doing, then this really shouldn't have been a problem for you. But enough talk. I'm going after Jackson. Get Scott on the phone, and have him get here with a medical bag. I don't want to bring him to a regular hospital if I could help it."

Stiles looked like he had more to say, but realized the more he talked, the more he would think about it and so gave in to Derek's demands…for the second time that evening.

Derek did not bother to dress as he ran down the stairs and out the front door. He shifted instantly, racing to the cliff and the hidden path that led down to the old tunnel.

When he reached the gate, one yank from the mutated paw pulled it off it's hinges. Derek entered, knowing the place was empty but smelling all of the delicious scents of those he would soon be killing. Gods! If the wind had been right that day, they would have both caught the odor. They could have been reunited already.

Derek slammed that thought aside and proceeded to the locked cell door. Once again, Alpha strength twisted the door into a rusted pretzel, and the odor of Jackson filled his awareness, as well as the sound of his heartbeat. Very faint, very unsteady.

Derek reached down and picked him up. The tattoo, nearly invisible under the blood and grime nearly broke Derek right there, but he shoved it out of his mind. He walked quickly, trying as hard as possible to avoid jarring Jackson, Derek rushed up the stairs and began the trek back to the house. It took a long time. Scott's car was there when he arrived, and when Derek entered the house, both Scott and Allison were putting the finishing touches on a makeshift hospital bed in the living room. Allison took in their nakedness without comment, though Scott averted his eyes. Stiles, nearby, was fully dressed.

Scott checked Jackson's vitals, having become an expert on werewolf biology as a matter of course. His former employer had taught him everything he knew over the years.

Scott waved an ampoule of smelling salts under Jackson's nose, causing him to cough and weakly wave it away.

Immediately, Scott gave him some water through a straw and commanded Jackson to drink, just a little.

Jackson did so, coughing only at the very end.

Scott pulled out another bottle. This one was filled with a thick and dark red fluid.

He gave this to Jackson as well, and surprisingly Jackson came more awake and pulled the liquid through the large straw as fast as possible. When it was empty, color started to return, and they watched as some of the less severe bruises began to fade.

"More." Jackson demanded, his eyes golden yellow.

Allison turned away. "Guess you were right about needing the second rabbit."

Scott gave him a second bottle, emptied a little more slowly this time. After, he collapsed back into sleep and they knew better than to awaken him. Derek waved off Scott's attempt to clean and dress the wounds, stating he wanted to do it himself.

"Um…did you say something about a second rabbit? What does that mean?" asked Stiles.

"Werewolves need bloody meat to survive. I breed rabbits on the off chance a situation like this occurs. When needed, I humanely kill them, butcher them, and run the pieces though a blender until they are liquefied. Allison only thought we would need one."

Stiles was so horrified, he turned and left the room. Scott shook his head at Derek.

"This is the first time I ever needed to do it. I think Allison got attached to them."

"Thank you, Scott. I owe you one."

Scott waved this off.

"Where's Lydia?" he asked, looking around.

"We didn't find her. They took her and left Jackson to die like he was nothing…like he was meaningless."

"You get the scents?"

"Yeah. One of them seemed so familiar…but I couldn't place it. They were somewhat faded though. Jackson had been there a while. Stiles and I were almost on top of them. If we only knew, we could have saved them both."

"You will find her. I have two more rabbits that I was saving for her in case you found her, just give them to Jackson when he wakes up. He should be recovered enough to speak in the morning. Allison and I will take one of the guest bedrooms. Call us if you need us. And man…put on some clothes!"

They left, and soon Stiles came back in. He looked at Jackson, and the empty bed that had been prepared for her in case she was found. He paced around and around in circles.

"We have to find her!" he shouted.

"We will. If they wanted her dead, they would have left her with Jackson. I bet she is in much better condition than he is now. When he wakes, we will know that much more about what on earth is going on here. Right now, Jackson needs to recover. The sooner we let him rest, the sooner that will happen. Sleep wherever you want, I'll stay here with him."

The night dragged on slowly for both men for different reasons. When the sun came up, Jackson opened his eyes and received the second helping of 'food' after a brief run through the microwave. Stiles, Allison and Scott joined them.

Jackson looked at them, his lips slightly bloody from his meal, his body looking ten times better than yesterday.

"You found me. I thought I would never see you again." Derek stroked his lover's cheek.

"I'm here. Please, it's been a year. Tell us what happened."

"I was walking around the woods, thinking about stuff. A dart hit me from nowhere and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was with Lydia in that cell. She had been taken on her way back from work. So as not to spread her scent around, they rowed her across from the far side of the lake. They… were pretty clear about what they wanted. The things they did to us…oh God, please, I had no choice! You have to forgive me! They would have hurt her worse than me if I refused!" Jackson broke down into hysterics.

Stiles and Derek, their faces grave, waited for Jackson to go on.

"Jacks…tell us what happened." Said Derek quietly.

"Derek…you'll hate me. Both of you will. Oh my God, you should have left me to die…Derek, please don't leave me…please…if I tell you…please stay with me…"

Derek cradled Jackson's head.

"That will never happen. I swear it. No matter what you are about to tell me."

"Stiles?" called Jackson.

Stiles faced away from them. A terrible and black suspicion began to grow in his mind. He felt he knew what Jackson was about to confess. And he was not wrong.

"It's okay Jackson. Tell us. Whatever it is…I know it wasn't your fault."

Jackson shuddered some more before taking a deep breath.

"They made us…they forced us to…mate."

Derek inhaled suddenly, whatever he was expecting, it was not this.

"What? Why?"

"They wanted something. And they got it. When they took Lydia out of there…she was pregnant...she had a baby."

Both men stared at Jackson, and felt their hearts crumbling in their chests.

Stiles, at actually hearing the terrible suspicion confirmed, went berserk.

"They made you father a child! WITH MY WIFE!" He screamed aloud, and the Alpha within him burst through. He fled the house, howling.

Derek and Jackson looked after him, Jackson had never looked as miserable in his entire life.

"Derek…do you hate me? Do…you want me to leave?" Jackson was unmanned, the multiple shocks too much for his mind to process.

Derek fell to his knees, and planted his lips firmly on Jackson's mouth. Then he pointed to the tattoos.

"Derek & Jackson FOREVER. And forever it is. You think I would have gotten the tattoo if I didn't mean it?"

Jackson cried then, great shaking sobs as he clutched Derek in a crushing embrace. Derek let him get it all out of him. Jackson would recover from this ordeal, and be stronger than ever before.

Derek took Jackson up to their room, and for the first time in a year, they slept in the great bed. They did no more than hold each other close while Jackson told Derek the whole story, leaving out no detail, and afterward both slept more deeply and peacefully than in the previous twelve months together.

Stiles had returned when Derek got up the next morning, leaving Jackson to finish recuperating. Stiles was pale and quiet. He wore only boxers, and his body was covered in blood. He had hunted last night, but instead of eating had merely torn the stag into hundreds of pieces while he vented his fury.

"The boy was born three months ago. I understand they were going to try for another one, when the ringleader decided to close up shop. Lydia and child were removed by helicopter, and Jackson left to die."

"Who is this ringleader?" asked Stiles in a dead voice.

"My cousin, Timothy Hale. Peter's son."

Stiles took this in without comment.

"Nothing to say?" asked Derek.

"No, now that I have the name of the one to kill. I don't care about anything else.

"You and Jackson threw those bombs at Peter, allowing me to kill him. Lydia was his last victim. He had us targeted for revenge. Jackson said that at first he thought this meant revenge for Peter's death. Apparently it goes deeper."

"Deeper? Than revenge?"

"Peter went insane during the six years of his recovery. He blamed the Argents for the fire, and then he blamed me for my involvement with Kate. The trauma shattered any bonds he felt he had with anyone in his family, including his own son. Although Peter rescued Tim from the fire, it was shortly after that he became brutal and sadistic, letting Tim know in no uncertain terms, that he was a failure that should never have been born. So Tim's real revenge is…to make those bonds that he lost, those things that connect us to each other…be destroyed. In one move, he breaks up both of our relationships, turns all of us into enemies, and has a trophy child to show for it. He hopes that we will separate, perhaps to pick us off one by one. He also wants to kill me to obtain my Alpha rights. He would settle for yours, however."

"You know, our lives were nearly destroyed the last two times someone came after us for revenge. First Peter Hale, then Mark Argent. And now it's happening again."

Stiles looked up at Derek, an expression he had never worn before on his face.

"Now, I want revenge. I am going to teach that prick the true meaning of the word. It is going to be so painful, that any who hear about it will think twice before messing with me again. I don't care how many long lost brothers, uncles or whatever that he has. He is going down, and it is going to be fucking legendary."

"You have all the help I can give you. I feel the same way. I had no idea Tim survived after all these years. There was no reason for this…" Derek couldn't finish.

"Today, I'm going to call Danny. He is going to use those computer skills of his to help us track these guys down."

Derek nodded; that was definitely a start.

Jackson came down the stairs then, looking nearly recovered. Derek smiled at him, while Stiles got up and left the room.

Jackson looked after him, extremely upset.

"He hates me. I knew it. Doesn't he know they would have tortured her if I hadn't agreed? And even then I waited for her to…let me."

"He doesn't hate you, Jackson, but right now you are a like a symbol of failure to him as both Lydia's husband and protector. He can't bear to look at you because it reminds him of her pain. When she is back with us…he will get over it. None of this was your fault."

"I keep thinking about that baby. They let us raise him in the cell. Feed him, change him. In a bizarre way, it was like we were a family. It made those last three months a little more bearable. But all I could think about was you…and the pain you must be going through. To not know for so long, to suspect the worst…"

"Jackson, I have a confession. About how we found you. Allison came up with the idea that two Alphas being close together can sometimes display new abilities…like how we found you in our dreams."

Jackson listened to the whole story, amazed that such an ability existed, and that Stiles had agreed to the procedure. He looked down on hearing about the compromising position the two men were in when they awoke. Derek looked away, wondering how he would take the news.

"You did it for me. Let's just…put all that behind us. I'll completely forgive you if you manage to get some part of Timothy away from Stiles so that I can rip it to pieces."

Derek smiled at that.

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything. I never heard him sound like that before. I keep remembering that ADHD kid I used to know, that naïve and funny and irritating boy who became so much more than that. I regret that it's come to this. Hopefully when Lydia gets back…" He left the thought unfinished.

And because it had been too long, Jackson led Derek back up the stairs and pulled him into the great bed.

"I am sooo going to make you forget that night with Stiles." He breathed huskily.

"I don't know…" Derek teased. "He was a little ball of fire when he got started. You are going to have to really impress me."

Jackson succeeded, with flying colors.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny spent an entire morning hacking into credit card, banking and police databases pulling everything together he could find out about Timothy Hale. Stiles, Jackson and Derek watched grimly, not saying anything lest they interrupt the highly illegal (and genius level) hacking he was performing at their behest. Matthew brought them drinks, then sat with a sketch pad in a corner chair and rapidly whisked his drawing pencil across the page, absently constructing the beginnings yet another sketch. The sound, rather than irritate actually seemed to soothe the anxious werewolves.

"He has no physical address listed anywhere, just a P.O. Box. The Post Office may or may not have an accurate physical address for him, but only on paper. What is more interesting were a number of investments made into his bank account. This Timothy guy is making serious cash off of someone named Lester Blackwood. That name sound familiar to anyone?"

Derek groaned.

"Blackwood's a legend. The worlds biggest 'Lycanthrophile'. Apart from a genuine Alpha Ancient, he probably knows more about werewolves than anyone in the world. His study of us has been lifelong, backed up by more than ten billion dollars in family wealth. He has to be nearly sixty years old by now; in his youth he begged and attempted to bribe any Alphas he could find to turn him, but all refused. A werewolf with his resources might do just about anything, especially one as off his rocker as Blackwood. When he got older, he gave up on trying to become one of us, and just settled on scientific study. I'm willing to bet Blackwood bribed Timothy to find a werewolf infant for him. It would be the perfect chance to study us from our earliest stages. Hell, his test subject would be calling him _Daddy_; Blackwood may just be able to command perfect obedience from the kid if he screws his head up just right."

In a robotic voice, Stiles intoned "Where is Blackwood, and how soon can I eat him?"

Danny looked at the computer screen which now looked like an explosion at a teletype factory before settling down on a list of addresses.

"He has places all over the world, Stiles. And the ability to travel between them on a private jet whenever he feels like it, if he is even _at_ any of them and not one owned by an alias or a corporation or one if its subsidiaries…"

"_I don't fucking care how many houses he has! I want him now! I want my wife and child back!"_ And in a more normal tone of voice, he said: "For the record, anyone who points out that technically _Jackson_ is the father will be turned into a Rabbit Smoothie."

No one commented.

"Good. Danny, please keep working on this. Derek, if Danny fails, then we will be trying to find Lydia ourselves. The _old fashioned way._ I don't care if we have to make werewolf porn to do it with the entire Pack starring. I'm leaving. When you find something out…or give up…call me." He left.

"Well, there goes my motivation for trying to fix this by computer…" Danny muttered under his breath.

The mood was broken, and there were a few chuckles from the group that died down all too soon.

{}{}{}

Stiles policed Beacon Hills in his cruiser, just on the off chance that, as before, his quarry was closer than expected. Every time he saw a man with a baby, he stopped long and hard to stare at them through the mirror shades of his sunglasses. Mirror shades that hid bright rings of crimson from an unsuspecting town. He overheard a call for an officer to accompany a social services worker to a home where there was suspected child abuse, unfortunately not a rare occurrence in Beacon Hills…or anywhere else. Though it was irregular for him to respond, dispatch did not question him. His staff had begun to view him since (Lydia's disappearance) like a caged and furious animal, and he had dressed down enough of them for minor infractions to the point that several were asking for transfers. Over time, he had met with them privately, explained his situation, and promised no more undeserved discipline, and was sometimes able to keep that promise.

When he pulled up to the address, the social worker was already there. Looking frantic, and clutching a briefcase bulging with papers and a bag bulging with God knew what, he once again felt admiration mixed with pity for being so dedicated to a cause (worthy, to be sure) that could only age her beyond her years.

"Sheriff! This is a surprise. Well, I'm glad it's you because this guy gives everyone a really hard time. He…oh, you'll see."

She knocked on the door. A voice shouted from within: "Get lost!"

She knocked again. "Mr. Madison? It's Rita Kennedy from Social Services. I need to speak to you about some things."

The sound of breaking glass, a bottle thrown against the wall perhaps. Stiles moved to stand behind Kennedy, ready to back her up if she needed. His fury, diffuse like a cloud that hung around his head suddenly contracted itself into a single tiny marble that sat in his chest, sending heat throughout his system much like a miniature sun.

The door opened, and Ralph Madison stood before them. He was wearing dirty boxers, and nothing else. His lank greasy hair hung half over his face, hiding one of his rat's eyes and part of his sneering mouth. Madison smelled like he had recently taken a shower…with beer.

"My ex-wife call you again? Told you I was driving around with the kid drunk?"

"Well, as a matter of fact we did get that report, but the caller was anonymous. And we also have the D.U.I. cited by Deputy Hawkins yesterday, who stated your BAC was almost double the legal limit."

"My kid was not in the car!" Madison roared. Stiles clenched his fists, unaware of the claws ripping into his palms, and the new dots of blood appearing on the worn wood of the porch.

"Mr. Madison, you signed a case plan stating that you will not drink! I told you what we would be forced to do if you broke that agreement!"

Madison shouldered his way through the door to stand outside with them.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told my stupid slut of an ex-wife. The kid is mine. Hear that? _The kid is mine, and I will take him anywhere I goddamn want, anywhere in the whole freaking world-" _His rant was cut off as Stiles (provoked by the unfortunate choice of Madison's words) grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet. He marched past the startled Rita Kennedy into the rear of the house and slammed Madison into the far wall hard enough to crack the cheap drywall.

"I am sick of your mouth, Madison. I have this _urge_ to just reach my fingers into it and yank off your tongue. Then I want to pull off your lower jaw. Think I can do that, Madison? Huh? You want to go through life like that? Half a face? You just SAY the GODDAMN WORD…the last thing you will ever say."

Madison's alcohol reddened eyes bulged as he watched the Sheriff reach a claw tipped hand towards his slack mouth. His tongue instinctively tried to hide as far in the back as it could, which only caused him to start choking on it. A red glint appeared behind the Sheriff's glasses, and the drunken terrified man swore he could see the Sheriff's body _shifting_ beneath the dress green shirt. He squawked, an unintelligible and primitive sound that somehow perfectly expressed his terror.

The sound of a baby crying suddenly pulled the Sheriff's attention off of Madison. Rita had come in behind him, and snatched the baby out of a filthy playpen in the living room. The smell of soiled diaper (almost indistinguishable from the hundred other vile odors the place contained) made him want to wretch. Other smells began to sort themselves out…the almost rotting carrots that had been thrown into the playpen for the baby to eat, the bottle filled with a rusty smelling tap water…old alcohol, old marijuana, old urine. To think that a child could be kept in this condition. Stiles turned back to his victim.

"We are taking this baby with us today. You will be contacted by the courts as to your rights in regaining custody. But let me tell you I am taking a personal interest in this case…so if you _decide _(and here Stiles' eyes burned through the glasses again) to pursue custody…you may find me showing up at your house…every month…every week…every day. Do you get my meaning?"

Madison tried to nod, but couldn't. Stiles dropped him.

"You…you're a monster!" choked out Madison.

"Actually, I was going to say the same thing about you. See how far telling anyone that gets you in this town."

Leaving Madison on the floor, Stiles checked on Rita in the kitchen who had just finished cleaning the baby boy. The soiled diaper lay nearby (there seemed to be nowhere to dispose of it) taped up in a smelly little heap. The child's thighs were covered in angry welts from the lack of hygiene, and his screams at the application of the antibiotic cream were ear-shattering. Rita was crying to herself as she pulled out more supplies from her bottomless bag. New diaper, powder, a change of clothes in the baby's size, new bottle and a can of ready-to-use formula. Stiles wondered briefly if she were some sort of baby-witch. When the child was bundled up they carried him to her state car (a beat up and sinister old thing Stephen King might have written about, but such was the budget situation in their county) and placed him in the car seat.

"Well, I'm off to the emergency room for his pre-placement physical. I have a family on call willing to take him in case this happened. Thank you for what you did in there. A little out of the old procedure book, but I'll send you a copy of my report tomorrow. It'll state he got violent due to his inebriated state and you had to use physical force to protect this baby and me… which is pretty much the truth. I sincerely hope the judge makes a better decision next time. At least the mother _knows_ she's a lousy parent and gave up custody willingly. I know who to call next time this happens."

As she got into the car and drove off, Stiles glanced in and saw the frightened child desperately pulling on the formula as if it might be snatched away at any second, and his heart broke. Somewhere, out in the night, there was another child. Equally alone, and equally scared. With someone who might have every intention to hurt him.

A sudden urge to go back in the house for another visit with Madison crossed his mind…a _final_ visit…but he fought it down. It wasn't easy. His rage was better saved up for someone who impossibly enough deserved it more. Blackwood had nearly destroyed a handful of lives, and Stiles would see him suffer.

But the child…and Lydia? What was happening to her?

{}{}{}

That same day, Derek worked with Jackson doing their routine grounds work. It was work that they enjoyed doing together, and gave them a sense of normalcy in the face of the impossible problems that they had to deal with. Jackson was unusually quiet, failing even to throw out his usual semi-serious critiques of Derek's ability (Derek had never so much as picked up a pair of hedge clippers before meeting Jackson), but instead worked quietly. Derek wondered how long this latest imprisonment, torture and near death experience would trouble him. He would need time, and lots of it, but the healing process could not even begin until they had Lydia and the boy back.

As if reading his thoughts, Jackson spoke suddenly.

"I know this may cause a fight with Stiles, but…I did raise that child for his first few months, and I am the father. There is no way that he is going to shut me out of that kid's life, if that's what he's planning."

Derek continued working while he thought of what to say.

"Stiles is pretty touchy about it. Let's get them back, first and give them a chance to figure things out for themselves. Who knows what Stiles will want? Or Lydia? We don't want the kid to feel that everyone is arguing over him though. It would screw his head up, and he doesn't need or deserve that. We have to work this out ourselves, and like _adults_. If Stiles and Lydia had him…the way they had planned, you can't tell me they wouldn't appreciate you coming over every week, being 'Uncle Jackson', and spoiling him rotten. You can still do that, but we have to watch ourselves from thinking of him as property, as something a person can own. Fighting each other is exactly what Timothy had in mind when he planned this."

Jackson was silent for a moment, considering his next words.

"I never even thought about raising kids. How we would even go about getting one, what it would be like…but despite me almost being killed, it also opened my eyes. I…_we_ have a lot to offer a child, Derek. You ever think about being a father?"

"Frankly, no. I thought I had too much growing up to do, and too much baggage to deal with. Look how much trouble my relatives have caused us already! I didn't want to be responsible for making more of the bad guys, even a few generations down the line. And there was no guarantee that at some point down the road some new enemy wouldn't try to use the kid to hurt us. Imagine a kid in a cell like the one you were in…"

"I don't have to imagine, Derek! MY KID IS IN A GODDAMN CELL SOMEWHERE! It sounds like you already think the boy is lost for good, or even…" he couldn't finish.

"Jacks, that's not what I meant. I'm only trying to explain why it never crossed _my_ mind to have kids. THIS child is here already, and we are going to do our damndest to get him back, and he will have all of us to protect him, guide him, and raise him."

Jackson was obviously not happy with this compromise, but he let the subject drop for now. They finished their yard work in silence.

Stiles came over after he got off of work, and let them know how his day had gone. Danny called and let them know he was still following up leads, and not to give up hope. The men shared two 'Mess o'Meats' pizzas rather than bother to cook, and were just finishing up when the sound of a chopper passed overhead. There was a thunk on the roof, a sliding sound, and then a dull crash as whatever was dropped landed on the front deck.

Derek opened the door and saw the cardboard box before slamming it shut in and shouting for the others to head for the panic room. After they were secured, they looked at the box from the closed circuit TV, but it did nothing more than sit there.

"You sure it's a bomb?" asked Stiles.

"What else could it be? UPS doesn't deliver by chopper." snapped Derek.

"I mean, if it was a bomb, why put it in a box? Just drop the damn bomb on the house. You don't have to gift wrap them."

It was a moot point anyway as they watched Danny's Range Rover pull up to the house. As he came up the steps, he noticed the box and bent over to pick it up. Weirdly, he stopped to smell it. The men burst from the panic room to yank open the front door and shout at Danny not to open it. Danny was so startled he threw it up in the air, and the three jerked him inside and slammed the door again before it hit the ground.

It didn't explode.

"Um, I don't think that was a bomb, guys." Whispered Danny.

"Why not?" whispered back Jackson.

"Why are you guys whispering?" whispered Stiles.

Derek groaned, and opened the door. He sniffed at the box as Danny had, then snatched it up and brought it into the house, heading for the kitchen. Setting it into the sink, he sliced open the tape with a newly grown claw and opened the flaps. A mini-plastic ice chest sat inside, with a letter taped to the top. Unfolding it, Derek read aloud to the group.

'Dear Gentlemen, I wanted to apologize for the rough treatment you have suffered (especially you, Mr. Whitmore) at the hands of my former associate Mr. Timothy Hale. I assure you any…unpleasantness…was completely his own idea and done without my knowledge. I did request the abductions, as well as the production of a child (I will not attempt to hide that) but I distinctly instructed that Mr. Whitmore be returned safely and in perfect health to his home. When I learned of what had transpired…well, I was disappointed, to say the least. I had hoped that we could come to an agreement, maybe even become friends, but I daresay all hopes in that direction are likely shattered. Let me then offer you some relief for your anxiety, and compensation for your ill-use.

The child is doing fantastically well in my care. I intend to raise him as my own, offer him every advantage in life, and adopt him as the sole heir to my fortune. He will not be experimented on, studied or any other foolish nonsense. He will go to school like other boys, learn to run and play…and to use his abilities as he was meant to. You need never concern yourself for his well-being, he will live a life to be envied by the rest of us. Please do not seek to _interfere_ with my plans, as that can only cause him harm. And you do not wish to be responsible for that, do you?

But now, to your compensation. The first is even now being dropped off in another location on your expansive and quaint little property, Mr. Hale. She will be arriving at your home any minute with a tale to tell. The second, and final piece, is in the ice chest. I am sure you will take as much delight in receiving it as I did in sending it.

Best wishes, Lester Blackwood'

The four men looked at each other before Stiles finally lost patience and snapped open the lid. The coppery odor that was only slightly evident before was now impossible to ignore. Packed into the chest was a bloody severed head, in the midst of transformation between human and Beta wolf. Timothy Hale's head.

The men backed away, their human halves disgusted (the wolves in them disappointed), before the impact of the note burst into their minds at once.

"_SHE?" _shrieked Stiles.

But already, the four werewolves were sniffing, and singling out the new and yet utterly familiar scent that was winding its way through the forest. A feminine scent, jasmine mixed with danger. Out of the woods she stalked, her eyes yellow, hair almost like a mane of flame, teeth and claws aroused and fully extended. Stiles was the first one out, almost running up to greet her before registering the fury on her face. He backed off, and instead trailed behind her, wanting desperately to throw his arms around her but not wanting to lose eyes or ears or gigantic flaps of skin while doing it.

She stormed in, barged up the stairs and into the master bath where she proceeded to lock herself in. The shower was heard running, and steam poured from under the door.

"That's Lydia. Washing up and…reinventing herself from scratch is the only way she knows how to put herself back together when she really loses it. I almost forgot…give her about two hours, then she'll talk to us." Stiles looked like he was about to cry. The other three closed in and hugged him (not the hug he was looking for, but he took it). Stiles then frantically dialed Scott and Allison, and begged them to come over (pleading with Allison to bring a make-up bag that Lydia would no doubt be demanding very soon).

They arrived an hour later, and Allison was rushing up the stairs just as Lydia threw open the door. The clawed hand snatched the bag inside along with a tote containing a handful of dress and shoe choices (Allison, like Stiles, was a quick thinker). The six retired to the living room to wait, and before long they heard the upstairs door open much more gently, and her slow and measured steps proceed down the stairs in patent Jimmy Choo shoes.

She entered the living room like a vision of heaven…except for the slightly disconnected and psychotic gleam in her eyes.

She yanked Stiles out of his chair, and hugged him tight while locking her lips onto his. Stiles' face turned blue as she nearly crushed his rib cage while seeming to suck all of the air out of his lungs.

When she released him, her eyes had regained a more normal look. They kissed twice, once gently and the second more forcefully with remembered passion.

"Honey, I-" Stiles began.

"Muffin, I know. Don't say anything. I still and always will love you. I know you did your best to find me, and how impossible it would have been for you. Enough of my own escape plans failed, believe me. The only legal topic for discussion from this moment forward until we have little Giles back, is how soon we are going to be picking our teeth with Lester Blackwood."

"_Giles_?" asked Jackson and Stiles together.

"Of course, Giles. After Jackson and Stiles. Stackson just sounds silly. Jackson helped me raise our baby for three months, and so is entitled to have some credit."

"Except, it's not really 'our' baby, is it." Said Stiles, lifelessly.

Lydia turned frost cold eyes on him.

"Does that make a difference to you? You would love him less because he didn't have your DNA? Tell me _right now_ if so, and you never have to worry about us again."

Stiles flinched at her obvious anger, but then unexpectedly went berserk.

"LOVE HIM LESS? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? _You're_ his mother, Lydia, and _just that_ is enough for me to want to lay the world at his feet, teach him everything I know and protect him from anything and everything! Have you forgotten my job? Have you forgotten how much child abuse is out there? What difference does it make who's goddamn DNA the kid has? That doesn't make a parent! Do you want to know why I'm so freaked out that I'm not the father? I'll tell you! What if…(here he calmed down and almost seemed to deflate) … you decided you…didn't need me anymore? What if you decided Jackson had more to give him than a bad tempered Sheriff in a semi-hick town? If you chose Jackson over me, I was ready to fight him for you both!"

Stiles fell back on the couch, unable to look at any of them. It was out, his worst fear. That deep down, they thought him incompetent for the roles that were expected of him. Alpha, Sheriff, father and man.

Lydia's face was a mask; this possibility had never occurred to her: how Stiles might be threatened by Jackson's place in their son's life.

"Oh, muffin. However hard I thought this last year has been for you, I think now I didn't get half of it. You're everything to me…you're perfect, and I never want you to change anything. You know, when some of my old girlfriends found out we were dating…well, they knew better than to make snide comments…except this one time. I heard them gossiping that the reason I liked you was because you were weak, and easily led. I…flipped a little, well scared the shit out of them to tell the truth. It was just so completely wrong. If I made you unhappy, and you stuck around…that would be weakness. You have the guts to love the baddest bitch this side of Hell, and love me just the way I am. You _revel_ in me, you plunge yourself into my fire over and over again, and can't get enough. You are either strong as an ox, or an incredible masochist. You will always be the only one for me. Don't ever doubt my taste again; when you insult my husband, you insult me."

Stiles looked up at her, unable to speak. The emotion was still too raw within him.

"And I love that when you find out I had a…forced affair, the first thing you worried about is that I'd leave you. Most other men would have abandoned the baby and me without a second thought. I love Jackson more than I did when we dated, but it's because we understand each other now. If I had to pick anyone…besides you… to be in that cell with, it would have been him. It would have been so much worse for me with anyone else. He did it…to keep me from being hurt. And they would have hurt me a lot. But, muffin…you do know that Jackson is gay, right?"

Stiles nodded.

"And you know that I wouldn't ever want to get on Derek's bad side like that, right?"

Stiles, Derek and Jackson chuckled at this.

"I'm NOT a man-stealer…um, anymore." This with an embarrassed look at Scott and Allison. "_Uncle _Jackson will always be in Giles' life along with his Uncle Derek, Uncle Scott, Uncle Danny, Uncle Pack members, Aunt Allison…and his father, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski." I had just found out I was pregnant the day I was abducted, muffin."

Stiles leapt up off the couch. "WHAT?"

"I said, I found out I was pregnant the day I was abducted."

Everyone stared at her, stunned at this incredible news.

"Yeah, I'm usually regular as an almanac…(here the boys looked nauseated, while Allison smirked), and after a few days of 'No Aunt Flo' I did a pregnancy test at work. I didn't mention it to Hale or Blackwood because I didn't know what it was exactly they wanted…or what they would do with Jackson if they decided he was no longer…needed. I was terrified when I couldn't hide the pregnancy any longer. I wanted to tell you the first thing just now, but…when I saw how…upset you were…I had to know if the paternity thing mattered to you. I couldn't do that to our son; have you always looking at him funny, wondering, maybe play mind games…that was sucky of me, I know, but I have seen too many good people change for stupid reasons not to test you. And oh, boy would the divorce have curled your short hairs…"

Lydia draped herself around Stiles, and looked around at the others.

"Guys? I need a little time alone with my man here."

Derek at once began to usher the group out of the room, and into the recreation room on the other side of the house. With the exception of Jackson, the rest of the group were relieved that Lydia was okay, and began to discuss possible plans for getting Giles back.

Derek hung back and took Jackson aside, brushing away the tears that leaked silently down his face.

"That must have been hard for you to hear. I know how much you wanted it. Believe me, it's better this way. For Stiles and his family."

Jackson nodded.

"After this mess is over, if you still feel strongly about wanting to have our own kid, then we'll sit down and figure out how it's going to happen."

Jackson looked up at Derek, his eyes lit up.

"Really? You'd want to raise him…her…them with me?"

"_Them?_ Wait a minute, let's start with one and then see…"

Derek pulled Jackson into the kitchen to fetch the ice chest as he began planning for the future in his mind.

First, they had a severed head to bury, and a maniacal kidnapper to find and eat.

Then, they would focus on starting a family.


	4. Chapter 4

With the return of Lydia, Stiles went from being angry, morose and bad-tempered to almost pre-bite hyperactive. Although both were still very concerned about Giles, they understood that Danny was working as fast as he could to find them a lead. Rather than dwell on it, they took advantage of the time by getting their own lives back in order in anticipation of his return.

Stiles gave up his bachelor apartment and together with Lydia purchased a modest four-bedroom home tucked away near woods almost as large as those surrounding the Hale property. Lydia reestablished connections with her contacts, who were overjoyed at her return and let her know that they still wished to utilize her services. With their financial security assured, they furnished the house with obscenely expensive (and tasteful) furniture…especially the new nursery. The crib was an ornately carved affair in Black Irish Oak, with Giles' name burned into the wood in gothic lettering. When he was older, it could easily be modified to become the headboard of his bed.

Jackson, Derek and Matthew surprised them with artwork for the room, including an amazingly accurate oil painting of all the Pack, the eyes in the portraits shaded a subtle yellow. Jackson and Derek had it painstakingly framed in the same wood as the crib. The figures of Lydia and Stiles were the most impressive, closer in the foreground than the others. Matthew had captured Lydia's surreal beauty perfectly; she appeared sultry and matronly, virginal and dangerous all at the same time. Stiles stood behind her, the care and concern in his eyes complementing the protective stance of his figure. All were dressed in period clothing, giving the painting a look of something out of dark fantasy.

"Jesus, Matthew. This is phenomenal! We look better in this painting than we do in real life, almost like this is…" Lydia couldn't finish.

"The real you?" he finished. "I try to include the qualities I see in people in their paintings."

"We are flattered you think so highly of us. I'd hate to see how you painted someone you didn't like." Said Stiles.

They stood there, admiring the room when Matthew's cell phone rang. He popped the call on speaker.

"Hey babe. What have you got for us?"

"Get the gang over here. I've got something."

Half an hour later, they were all staring at Danny's computer screen.

"It was the helicopter that did him in. No matter how rich you are, if you fly the skies without clearance, you get shot down. Blackwood used his own chopper, and his departure and destination points (the same location) were recorded. It is less than three miles from one of the housing locations I found, and none of the others are close. It's one owned by one of his corporations, and his name is not listed on any of the public paperwork. I'm betting he's there with Giles. I cross-referenced the address with local grocery and furniture stores, and deliveries were listed that indicate the presence of a very young child. Crib, playground equipment, baby supplies, the whole nine yards."

The gang took in this news with excitement.

"That son of a bitch is _so_ mine!" growled Lydia.

"_Ours_, honey. I owe him three times over." said Stiles.

"Three?" Lydia was incredulous.

"Yep. He took my wife, my kid…and my best friend."

Jackson turned bright red.

"Stiles, after all that happened in there, and I know you and Scott…"

"No, let me finish. Jackson, thank you for taking care of them in there. I know you were forced to do things…but I could live with it knowing it was you. Anyone else, even Scott…I don't know what I would have done. No other guy could care as much about Lydia as I do without actually wanting to take her from me. You were there for Giles too, for a few months. This whole experience didn't damage our friendship. If anything, it made it stronger. At least, that's how I feel. I am very lucky to have you in my life, ever since you rescued me from Mark Argent all those years ago."

Stiles walked over and gave Jackson a fierce hug, and Jackson felt all of the awkwardness and anxiety he felt around them drain away. Jackson returned the hug, and Stiles' shoulder was damp when they separated. Jackson wiped his eyes.

"But Lydia is officially 'off limits' from now on, understand?" said Stiles jokingly.

"Ditto for you and Derek bro. He still mumbles your name when he's asleep."

"_WHAT?"_ said Lydia. "You slept with _Derek? _You and Jackson make two men I've destroyed for other women. I'll get into Guiness at this rate. Do I get to see a home movie at least? I want _all_ the details!"

Stiles groaned. "Thanks, Jackson."

Derek and Jackson were trying unsuccessfully to hold in their laughter.

"You know muffin, if _I _slept with Derek and _you_ slept with Jackson, we would all officially be swingers…" said Lydia sarcastically.

"NEVER HAPPENING, SWEETHEART!" She was kidding, of course. He hoped.

"I'd give you a pass, Jackson, just this one time. I mean, _it's Stiles_." joked Derek.

"Really? I think I'd feel guilty about it…unless you watched of course. By the way, does Stiles measure up? You kind of spoiled me."

Derek shrugged his shoulders. "No idea, he was facedown the entire time…"

"OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!" Stiles roared, red-faced with embarrassment.

"Don't laugh queerwolf, I'd have _you_ facedown even faster." Lydia growled at Derek, yellow eyes sparkling.

"I don't doubt it! I don't think you've seen the front side of a man yet!" Derek was bent over unable to stand up straight from laughing so hard.

That broke all of them up, even Stiles, Danny and Matthew were red-faced with tears rolling down their faces.

When they recovered somewhat, the group contacted Scott and Allison and met up at the local steak house (which made a fortune that night off of everyone with the exception of Allison, who only ate a salad) to make plans for the assault on Blackwood's property.

When Allison, who had seemed oddly quiet and distant the whole evening, excused herself to freshen up, Lydia rapped her fork on a glass until she had everyone's attention.

"Now that the lone human is out of earshot, I just wanted to make very clear what is going to happen tomorrow. Giles will be coming home with us, and Blackwood will be passing through the digestive tracts of several of us here. Is that understood? _He dies._ No question. Anyone that disagrees with this plan, speak up now. Not only is this a revenge thing, but if we don't kill him _he has the resources to pursue us for the rest of our lives._ For us to survive and be safe, we have to do this. _Well?_"

Everyone nodded their heads.

"Muffin? Your father was an officer of the law. I know that when he was faced with a decision like this, he retired from the force. Can you live with what we are going to do?"

Stiles thought a while before responding. Then, he took off his badge and put it in his pocket.

"Sheriff Stilinski will not be facing him tomorrow. Stiles Stilinski, husband, father and pissed-off badass werewolf will. I won't kill him in cold blood, but somehow… I don't think that's gonna happen. He'll be packing serious heat and when we kill him, we will be fighting for our lives. Don't worry about me. I'll sleep better knowing he's gone."

Stiles got a text on his phone, and with a pensive look made his way towards the back of the restaurant, presumably to take a private call.

Lydia looked after him, then turned to the group. "The rest of you…this will be dangerous, and for many of you this isn't your fight. If anyone wants to sit this out, I'll understand."

"Don't insult us Lydia. Even if any of us were big enough cowards to let you go fight alone, we could never show our faces to you again. Giles is a _baby_, for chrissake. More importantly, he is the child of people we all care about. For the record, Allison and I had a huge fight on the way over here. She wanted to come with us, but I told her in no uncertain terms that this was werewolf business, and humans had no place in it, especially since she hasn't been keeping up with her Hunter training for ten years. Besides, I don't…want her to see what we are going to do to him. It might really give her some bad memories. Personally, I want to tear him apart." said Scott.

"For what happened to Jackson, I get a piece of him too." growled Derek.

"Don't underestimate him. You guys don't know, but Timothy Hale was a scary son of a bitch too. And Blackwood seemed to have no trouble taking his head off and sending it gift-wrapped. Blackwood is ruthless, and I see him easily getting…drastic if he doesn't get his way. We have to plan for the absolute worst. He also knows werewolves better than any Hunter, from what Derek told me about him. He _will_ be ready for us." put in Jackson.

Lydia nodded. "I couldn't agree more. I've done nothing since I've been back but plan for this. Let's wait for…oh, here they come."

Stiles returned to his seat crunching a handful of after-dinner mints, looking preoccupied. Allison stood, looking very pale, almost as if she had been crying.

"I know you guys need to make your plans. Since it's 'werewolves only', I'm going to make myself scarce. See you at home, Scott?" She left before he could answer.

Scott looked after her. "It's not like her to give in so easily."

The group gave their dessert order, and discussed the bloodbath they would be orchestrating tomorrow over their cake and ice cream.

{}{}{}{}

The next day, the seven werewolves met up at Derek's house to pile into a large van for their trip to Blackwood's estate. This was the same van that they had used for the assault on Argent's compound ten years ago, but it was no longer black as Stiles and Jackson (who shared a secret love of vintage cartoons) had painted it to look like the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo.

"Could we drive anything more conspicuous?" complained Lydia.

The group was silent as they mentally prepared themselves for the coming battle. Scott was especially morose; he explained that Allison had locked herself into the spare bedroom by the time Stiles had dropped him off, and no amount of begging would get her to open the door. She explained through the door that she was not mad at him, she was just upset at the situation, and she swore she would be over it by the time they returned with the baby. She just asked for some time to herself, and wished them all a successful battle.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at this, fixing them on Stiles. Scott imagined she was thinking 'Good thing for you that you didn't try to keep _me_ out of this!'

"She'll deal, Scott. You'll fight better knowing she's safe." Put in Derek.

The Mystery Machine wound its way across the state border into Washington, and into the upper income area of Seattle. The houses became larger and more spaced out as the obvious wealth of the neighborhood increased. Finally, the van parked about 500 yards away from the most lavish estate of them all, behind a singularly fierce looking pair of black iron gates. The group left the van. The sun had set half an hour before, and the full moon was just rising. They had picked this night as before to take advantage of the increase of their powers, but they held off from shifting while they prepared.

Danny pulled out a sleek looking device. Pressing some buttons, the machine uttered a short beep before Danny tossed it back into the van.

"There. All Internet access to and from the house has been terminated. His phone likely runs through it, so that will be out as well. The interference should knock out their cell phones. They are officially isolated. Once we knock out the power, those gates will remain shut until they fix it, or we complete the mission. This is it, guys. Let's go."

Stiles and Derek went first, shifting into the Alpha form and leaping the gates with little effort. The rest climbed easily over in the Beta phase, just a few seconds behind. Derek and Stiles made for the house while the rest scattered and set about slaughtering any armed security and subduing any patrolling guard dogs. The Alphas reached the main power line coming from the house just as a spotlight began to brighten and an alarm siren started to blare. Both were cut off before they fully got started. The Alphas split up to circle the house to search for a way in. Front door and two side doors were locked, but a hop over a stone wall into the rear courtyard let to an unlocked sliding glass door. Derek let loose a summoning howl, receiving five answering calls almost instantaneously.

Danny dispatched two patrolling guards using his superior speed and his signature move, a slash across the throat with his index claws that left both dying before they even knew what hit them.

Matthew found one already on high alert and waving his loaded mini sub-machine guns in all directions. He failed to look up, and so did not see Matthew leap from his high perch atop a gazebo, using the added momentum to slam his claws into and _through_ the man's arms, leaving him with two bloody stumps and a terrified expression.

Two more claw swipes later, and the guard watched his intestines try to wiggle out of his flayed belly like a nest of wet red snakes. Matthew paused to admire the blood splatter pattern on his shirt, thinking he really ought to preserve it on canvas somehow.

Scott's target was a huge brute of a guard who carried no weapon, but revealed himself to be a master martial artist. The thug got in a few good slams while Scott got his timing down, and then let his werewolf reflexes kick in. Martial arts, no matter how sophisticated, had ever taken into account the natural weapons of the werewolf. An attempt to grapple Scott gave him the chance to flip the thug over and onto his back (a feat that would have been impossible for a human). The few seconds of breathlessness were all Scott needed to end the battle with his own signature move; a slam into the chest cavity to pull the still-beating prize from its protective ribcage. The delicious tidbit was just disappearing down his throat when he heard Derek's howl.

Lydia was busy slamming the heads of two more guards together with increasingly moistening thuds when she heard the howl, and she dropped her prey to head towards the source. A pack of three dogs materialized from the woods, snarling. Two of them lunged at her, and she easily caught them both by the throat with her clawed (and yet still beautifully manicured) hands. With quick snaps, their necks were broken. Their surprised death-yelps caused the final dog to turn tail and run.

Jackson found three guards, and immediately recalled to mind a trick Derek had taught him years before. Raising his hands (a bizarre sight with the full Beta shift upon him) he grinned at his would be captors.

"Three of you? Don't worry boys, there's enough of me to go around." Positioning himself just right, he waited until he heard the first click of a gun's trigger when he leapt straight up into the air. Two of the guards fired their weapons through the empty space Jackson had been standing in…and straight into each other. The third whirled around to find Jackson behind him, and in a blindingly fast move he was disarmed by the snarling werewolf. Jackson broke the gun in half. Then there was the sudden cold pain in the guard's neck, after which it seemed to be raining blood. The guard looked up in wonder at it (recalling an early childhood memory of his first snowfall), only realizing then that it was fountaining from his own neck. Jackson chewed and noisily swallowed before leaving the guard to sink into the darkness that silences all screams.

When the seven were once again reunited in the rear courtyard, the Betas followed the Alphas into the house, all of them straining their senses to locate their quarry. The only two scents in the home came wafting from the top of a majestic staircase, and the Pack stalked up the flight all the time growling low in their throats.

A huge circular room proved to be the origin of the odors (and the only source of light in the house despite the lack of power), and when the Pack entered, they were in for a surprise. Several of them, in fact.

An older and distinguished gentleman with twinkling blue eyes (and who looked eerily familiar) dressed to the nines in a finely tailored suit and silver tipped walking cane stood smiling at them, as if he had invited them over for high tea. Surrounding the room were numerous metallic chairs with keypads at the end of their left armrests and straps built into the seats at the places where neck, hands and feet could be bound.

Sitting in a bizarre futuristic high chair sat a chubby infant who could only be Giles Stilinski. The baby cooed and gurgled at the Pack and waved his rattle at them imperiously. A thin collar surrounded the baby's neck, and an ominous red light flashed from it. The high chair itself was connected to a fantastic and futuristic looking machine hooked into an array of computers. A man-sized chair with straps was also connected to the machine.

"Good day, my friendly neighborhood werewolves! Nothing funny now, the button on this cane will set off that explosive collar the child is wearing. It will be very messy if you fail to do exactly as I say. Now, the seven of you. Strap yourselves into those chairs and program the number 3845 into the keypads. That will lock you in tight while I explain what you are about to see. Go on. Before I count to five. One!" He raised the cane threateningly, his thumb poised on the button.

The Pack shifted back and looked at each other warily.

"Two!"

Lydia looked at the old man with hatred in her eyes, but spoke to the group.

"Let's do as he says."

"Three!"

The werewolves sat in the chairs and began strapping themselves in.

"Four!"

They programmed the keypads, and all the straps tightened themselves simultaneously with pneumatic hissing noises.

"Excellent! I daresay, your timing is impeccable. 24 hours from now, and it wouldn't have mattered. But I did so want to do this on the full moon. First off, I want to admonish my young mother here. Tsk, tsk, tsk. My dear Lydia. You were pregnant already when you were captured! This child does not belong to Mr. Whitmore, but to Mr. Stilinski! A shame. I was truly hoping to do this with a child that was my own flesh and blood."

The Pack looked at each other with difficulty. What the hell was he talking about?

"I see you are confused. The child has brown eyes. Mr. Whitmore and Mrs. Stilinski both have blue eyes, and I am told reliably by my staff of medical personnel that it is genetically impossible for Mr. Whitmore to be the father. I am guessing (unless Mrs. Stilinski has been very, very naughty) that you, Sheriff, are in fact the father. A true Maury Povich moment!"

"What do you mean, 'your flesh and blood'?" asked Jackson. He started to get a sinking sensation in his middle, as if he were about to plunge down the slope of an enormous roller coaster.

And then, it clicked for the entire group; the eerie familiarity of Blackwood's face.

"Oh my God. You…you're my father?" Jackson muttered in disbelief.

"Too true, my lad. You were always destined for a life of privilege it seems. Your mother fled with you when you were a newborn. She gave you up for adoption to keep you from me. She was devilish clever, covering her tracks well. She was found, unfortunately, by one of my more… overenthusiastic trackers. Needless to say, his death followed closely behind hers. It was the work of almost twelve years to finally find you. I did not disturb your adoptive home, partly because of the formidable resources of the Whitmore family and partly because I was just finishing up some of my own researches. By the time I found you again, imagine my surprise when I discovered you had become a werewolf! My own lifelong dream, realized in my son. A son that I never had the opportunity to raise and guide. My original plan was to correct this mistake by forcing the conception of a grandchild. With you being homosexual, I could not count on you becoming a parent the usual way. That was when I contracted Timothy Hale to tend to the vulgar details. And yet again…my hireling was overenthusiastic. It really is impossible to find decent help these days. Timothy was to perform one final service for me…to be the recipient of my own brain algorithms…a technological version of metempsychosis…err, a soul exchange if you will. As a werewolf parent to my own werewolf grandchild, I could complete both of my lifelong goals: lycanthropy and fatherhood. But since the child is not mine…and since young Timothy has lost his head…I have decided to instead relive _my own_ childhood by using the baby as my host."

"NO!" screamed the seven prisoners.

"Oh yes. Good thing I had this room wired to it's own heavy duty industrial generator, or this experiment would have had to be postponed. The full moon at it's zenith, and the presence of all of you here together will no doubt lend mystical efficacy to the proceedings. This really is the most auspicious way to achieve this. I can't thank you enough. And now, to begin!"

Blackwood placed his cane in a stand near the wall and sat in the "donor" chair of the great device. Strapping himself securely in, be programmed the keypad with the locking code, and then prepared to press the red button that would begin the transfer.

"I would very much appreciate you raising me, Jackson. I have left all of my wealth to…err, me. I look forward to calling you father…son! The straps on all of these chairs will open when the process is complete, it should take no more than a minute. The blue button on my cane will release the collar…keep away from the red one unless you'd like to be a baby killer. Good day!"

So saying, his index finger poised over the ominous looking button on his keypad.


	5. Chapter 5

Blackwood pressed the button, and a screen lit up with the words "Algorithm Transcription Countdown: 60 Seconds." The counter began cycling.

Lydia was crying. "You can't do this to my baby!" she shrieked.

Stiles was growling. His arms and hands began to turn red and then purple as he struggled to force his change into the Alpha despite the tight and unyielding restraints. Blackwood looked bored by Stiles' efforts and programmed a few more numbers into the keypad. Stiles suddenly started screaming as an electric shock ran through his body. Each of the chairs had metal plates that conducted the shocks, and each werewolf's limbs were held tightly against those plates by the restraints. All Blackwood had to do was program in the chair's number and that chair would receive the shock. Stiles convulsed a few more times, and the group smelled the sweet odor of burnt flesh.

45 Seconds.

Jackson shouted at Blackwood in desperation.

"Blackwood! Dad? Use me instead of the baby. I'm your own flesh and blood, and you could be in your twenties, the perfect age to enjoy your powers. You really want to be stuck for years in the helpless body of a baby? Plus, my adoptive parents are already rich. You wouldn't be losing anything!"

"Hmmm, intriguing. Give me a moment to consider." Mused Blackwood.

"Jackson!" shouted a terrified Derek.

"I have to do this! It's the only way to save Giles!"

30 Seconds.

"Very well. I accept your offer boy, and it is quite gracious of you to do so. I do regret that I didn't get to know you better…"

"You have to promise to let the rest of them go free, with Giles." Said Jackson firmly.

"You are in no position to bargain, son. But I can be magnanimous. If your friends will swear to stay away from me, I will return the favor. What say you all? Time is running out!"

15 Seconds.

"I swear. Stiles does too." Said Lydia miserably. Stiles was still unconscious, although his burns seemed to be rapidly fading.

"I swear." Said Scott.

Danny and Matthew swore after a brief glance at each other. What else was there to do?

"Derek? Say you swear! NOW!" shouted Jackson.

Derek's face was stone. For a second, it seemed he would refuse, but then he looked at the baby in the chair, and a spark came back into his eyes.

The soul transfer machine began to make a whirring noise as it prepared to complete its function.

"I swear." Derek said lifelessly.

Blackwood hit a button, and the countdown stopped at 1 second. A few keystrokes later and he was free, and began disconnecting Giles from the machine. He rolled the chair away, and used his cane to detach the collar from the child's neck. Blackwood wheeled Jackson's chair into the vacated spot and began attaching the wires to him. When he was done, he ruffled Jackson's hair almost fondly.

"It is so noble of you to sacrifice yourself for your friends. I must say, you have made your father proud."

Jackson said nothing, although he seethed at his biological father's touch and longed to rip him with words if not teeth and claws. But he couldn't risk the old man taking it out on the baby.

Blackwood reactivated the countdown and moved to secure himself back in his chair when Scott suddenly screamed "Allison!" Everyone turned their heads to see the beautiful brunette walk into the room. She held one of her old crossbows, it's lethal shining tip pointed directly at Blackwood's heart.

"_I _never swore _anything._" She said. Then she fired the crossbow. In a move one rarely sees outside of Kung Fu movies or Xena the Warrior Princess, Blackwood snatched the bolt out of the air.

"My years studying under the highest ranked _Ying-Ko_ or Battle Masters of Death have served me well my little archer."

He suddenly crossed the space between them and held the arrow tip to her throat.

"I'm sorry, my dear. But with my training, no human in the world could get the best of me."

"Who says I'm human?" Allison said sweetly, her eyes suddenly lighting up with golden flames. In a blindingly fast move she had wrenched Blackwood's hand around and behind his back, yanking upward with a sharp cracking sound. Blackwood shrieked, and Allison dropped him to the floor before running over to Jackson and viciously yanking out the wires connecting him to the machine. With swipes of her razor sharp claws, she sliced through the thick bandages connecting her friends to their chairs.

Lydia suddenly said in a bored voice "Just so everyone knows, I saw this ending coming down 5th Avenue in a cab. Stiles will have a lot of explaining to do when he wakes up." Stiles chose exactly that moment to return to consciousness, and catching sight of Allison in full Beta phase, he gave everyone a sheepish grin. Scott and Lydia glared at him before they all turned their attention on Blackwood.

Blackwood rolled over still holding his injured arm to find eight enraged werewolves standing over him. Lydia paused only long enough to gently turn Giles' high chair to face the wall so that he wouldn't be scarred for life by what he saw.

All eight shifted fully and as one pulled the flesh from Blackwood's bones, his shrieks barely audible above the furious roars of the maddened beasts.

When they were done, they looked down at the picked clean skeleton, before Jackson slammed his foot down on the bare skull, crushing it to fragments and causing the encased brain to splatter in all directions.

"Thanks for the free meal, Dad." he said contemptuously.

Lydia burped loudly, and covered her mouth delicately in embarrassment. Then the eight blood and gore covered friends ran over to Giles' high chair and Lydia joyfully snatched him up while he squealed with delight. Stiles hugged both of them, and after the happy parents exchanged a glance, they grabbed Jackson in for a big group hug.

"Jackson, you were going to sacrifice yourself for him. I will never forget that." Lydia said, her eyes flooding with tears.

"I already know who we are going to pick to be his godfather." Said Stiles. "Hey Lydia, this is for you." Stiles grabbed Jacksons face and kissed him full on the lips, while Jackson flailed his arms around wildly. Lydia cheered, along with Danny and Matthew. Scott and Allison screamed and turned away, their faces red.

Derek laughed when Stiles finally let Jackson go... "I did give you a pass Jackson, don't worry, I'm just a little jealous. But what a little trollop you are, trying to bed all the Alphas in the neighborhood!"

"Der! That was all him! I didn't ask for it! Although, I do see what you mean about him now…" Jackson joked.

"Guys, let's get back to Stiles' house for the victory celebration. This place gives me the creeps." Said Allison. She hummed as she set a metal briefcase that was sitting in the hall right on top of the soul transfer machine. Opening it up, she programmed a tiny control panel and it began to beep merrily. None of the gang had to ask what the device was. They were back in the van and on the road by the time the mansion blew up.

_**Epilogue**_

Giles was sleeping for the first time in his crib when Lydia came down and joined the festivities that were already underway.

"So, did we get to the part where my husband bit your wife, Scott?" asked Lydia, eyes flashing.

"That night at the restaurant. The two of you leaving, Stiles eating breath mints when he came back, and Allison hiding for the night. I should have known." Said Scott.

"I'm an Argent, honey. You know we can't stay out of blood wars. You were right about me being out of practice, but it occurred to me I could get all my old skill back and more with a bite from our friendly neighborhood Sheriff."

"Scott, she threatened to start screaming that I stole her underwear or some nonsense in the middle of the restaurant if I didn't agree. What choice did I have?"

Lydia snickered.

"Well, I wish you would have told me, but I'm glad things worked out the way they did. And I stand by what I said years ago…you make a hot werewolf, babes." Scott leaned over and they began smooching, so the other guests found other things to stare at for the next forty-five minutes.

"Get a room!" said Danny.

Allison caught the pregnancy bug, and within nine months they were graced with a baby daughter, whom they named Melissa Christine after Scott's mother and Allison's father.

Derek and Jackson adopted the little Madison baby when his current foster parents returned him to Child Services. The mother's drug history had caused her to contract a number of debilitating viruses from contaminated needles, and she had passed these on to the infant without knowing, as a routine blood work test revealed. Mr. Madison gave up all of his parental rights when he found out. Ms. Kennedy had contacted Stiles and asked if he knew anyone that would be interested as they had no other suitable homes at that time. When Stiles mentioned it to Jackson, he begged Derek to be allowed to take the baby.

"I'm fine with that, Jacks…but you don't want your own child? I thought we talked about a surrogate." Said Derek, stroking Jackson's cheek in their bed that night.

"Adoption saved my life, getting me away from that evil bastard. I don't want his genes to live past me. Besides, it's only fair that I do for a kid what was done for me."

"You know he's pretty sick." Derek whispered.

"And you know that with one bite, you could knock the bugs right out of his system. No child should have to live like that." answered Jackson.

Derek exhaled deeply.

"Christmas is going to be interesting with all of these little wolfy kids running around, that's all I have to say." Derek reached over to put out the light.

When the adoption was finalized, they rechristened him Jack Erik. Of course the other adults called him "Jerek", and after a while the name stuck.

Danny and Matthew hired a surrogate to have Danny's child, who turned out to be a boy they named Miguel after Stiles' long ago ruse that led to a Derek Hale strip tease. Matthew happily acted as a free daycare provider for all of the children whenever their parents were busy with work. He taught them how to paint and draw, and they were always excited to spend the day with him.

One day, while Stiles was busy changing Giles and Lydia was still ten minutes away from completing her 2 hour morning bathroom routine, the bell rang. It was a UPS deliveryman with a sealed official looking envelope from a law firm with nearly twelve names attached. Opening it, they found letters detailing the corporations, stock holdings, real estate and liquid assets that Lester Blackwood had left to little Giles Stilinski.

The two parents were stunned, and they looked over at what was surely the richest baby in the entire world, who had decided to soil himself once again before the new diaper had even been sealed shut.

"Well, I guess we don't have to worry about his college fund." said an awed Lydia.

"Should we send him to Yale, or just buy it for him when he turns eighteen?" wondered Stiles aloud.

_**Ten Years Later, Aftermath 3: Seaon 20 (Thirty-Something Wolf)**_

It had been a long time, but the Pack was gathered once again. Of the seven members of the original Lacrosse team that lived elsewhere in the country, all had gotten married and had a child. There was a big party on the Hale estate with the eleven children gathered together on the front lawn playing games while the adults ate food and rehashed old times.

The children were playing a game that Stiles taught them, called 'Who's the Alpha?', which involved a lot of yelling, screaming and shoving as the children struggled to become the leader of their Pack.

Giles and Jerek were shoving each other pretty good, their eyes yellow and little ears pointed. Along with Melissa, they were the oldest and the first among the group to change, although all of them were doing it now.

"I'm the Alpha!" shrieked Giles.

"No, I'm the Alpha!" screeched Jerek.

They were both suddenly hurled to either side by an extraordinarily strong Melissa McCall.

"I'm the Alpha QUEEN!" she shouted, making up the new title with childlike enthusiasm. And to punctuate her certain victory, she crossed her arms and glared at the assemblage with eyes that flickered suddenly from brown to yellow to bright crimson.

"Oh, boy…" Said a stunned Scott and Allison McCall.

The End


End file.
